


Paper Trail

by writingwrecked



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, First Time, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Liberal use of Italics, M/M, very clinical and awkward descriptions of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 06:13:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21351556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingwrecked/pseuds/writingwrecked
Summary: Heaven keeps meticulous records of every miracle by every angel. Ever.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 235





	Paper Trail

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading a lot of fanfiction and it shows. A common theme is, "what would Heaven think if they saw all these sex miracles". This is that fic. Lots and lots of liberties have been taken with Heaven and angel mechanics (mostly based around Pseudo-Dyonisius' Celestial Hierarchy since there wasn't a whole lot to go off in the show/book). This is mostly from an original character's POV. Angel names are almost all completely made up. Crowley and Aziraphale are stupid. No beta.

There was a moderately sized, square, grey room in the middle of a moderately sized, square, grey building in the middle of a not very interesting block of other very bland buildings. Like there rest of heaven, this building did not stick out from the rest, and was wholly efficient, terribly boring, and perfectly bureaucratic.  


The walls were just enough of a warm grey to not be completely devoid of color, there were just enough windows so that the occupants couldn’t imagine themselves going mad with cabin fever, and the walls were just thin enough that they could imagine the pleasant sounds of the outdoors but not the clicking and shuffling of papers and keyboards in the office next door.  


This particular office building, devoid of any defining features, settling right in with the similarly sized buildings surrounding it, was the home of a sect of Dominions. Dominions, being a type of angel belonging to the second tier of the celestial hierarchy. Their jobs generally involve commanding other angels in the lowest ring, making sure God’s will is carried out, and writing history as it happens. In the case of this group of Dominions, it’s sorting the earthly angel’s and archangel’s records and filing away papers, keeping careful history of their actions. On this particular floor, the Dominions worked endlessly sorting, cataloguing, and rarely, reporting miracles performed by their peers. In this particular room, there was a particular Dominion, The Dominion Ramiel, who’s charge was the recently estranged Principality Aziraphale.  


Now, since it wasn’t his department, Ramiel was only very vaguely aware of the events that had transpired some months ago. Every angel in Heaven knew about Apocalyptic, world-changing, Hell-destroying battle that was supposed to happen, but then didn’t. Of course, they did. Each hierarchy briefly abandoned their posts and took up work to prepare for the legendary battle. Ramiel himself did not line up to be given sword and shield and fight in Her honor, but he and his floor had individually counted, inventoried, and catalogued the equipment to be given to the warrior angels. It turned out to be a lot of paperwork for nothing, but being irritated wasn’t in his job description, so after the Flop-pocalypse, he went back to work. During Ramiel’s weapon cataloguing, however, his charge was found to be issued a flaming sword sometime around the very beginning of time and had turned up without it. This was the sort of typical thing Aziraphale was known for, (known to him, at least). That in itself should have given him a clue about what would come next.  


It was kept from most of the other departments and hierarchies was why exactly the Apocalypse didn’t happen. There was a lot of murmuring amongst departments and floors about what went wrong. Many angels, mostly the third rung, were very disgruntled about the years spent preparing all for nothing. Some of other angels were secretly relieved and a sizeable group, Ramiel included, didn’t really care and continued as they were before. Ramiel was definitely not one to gossip, so he didn’t. Judging by a few of the last miracles his charge had done before the Not-pocalypse and then the subsequent radio silence, he made a guess that The Principality Aziraphale had something to do with it.  


This was all speculation of course. Most of him, the rational parts, decided that boring, meek, soft-around-the-middle Aziraphale was just resting or had a new job. The small, frail, almost dead part of him that had developed over the long, tedious years of sitting and sorting dared to hope, and suggested that it was all Aziraphale’s fault. Chalk it up to a gut feeling, or just wild shots in the dark that made absolutely no sense, but Ramiel’s infinitesimal irrational voice couldn’t be quieted.  


He was expecting an explanation or a reassignment or at least having his suspicions confirmed or denied but Heaven was also silent. He sat at his desk watching the other Dominions and waited. He hadn’t known anything actually happened for sure until another Dominion whose name probably started with an E, questioned him as to why he was still working._ Ramiel? What are you doing here? Wasn’t your "The Principality Aziraphale" burnt up in hellfire for what he did?_ Ramiel looked at the paper before him that had just began printing out with the most recent miracle from the allegedly cooked principality. He held it up, looked it over, and glanced back to the nosy dominion to his side with mild annoyance. _What’s this then?  
_

__

The Dominion, was it Ezekiel? Or maybe Hezekiah looked it over and gave a confused look. _That’s odd,_ he remarked and walked back to his desk. Ramiel still didn’t know what Aziraphale did. He did know now, that he did something. Allegedly.  


As the rumors spread and Ramiel got a fuller picture of what had happened, he actually considered, briefly, asking for a reprieve or to be reassigned. His charge had, in fact, somehow stopped the actual Apocalypse and was punished. He gathered that something had gone wrong with the Hellfire or the Aziraphale, or some other mishap, and now his charge was unaligned. Apparently, the Archangels were cowering in fear at the rogue principality as he nearly smote them all with the Hellfire that was now under his control. They had to beg for their lives and only were spared when they agreed to withdraw from Aziraphale and never bother him again. Sachariel recounted the story to him with wide eyes as she left her desk unattended, letting her charge’s miracles pile up. He took it with a grain of salt. He screwed up his face and told any co-workers who commented that if any of it were true, he would have been told. And that it was none of their jobs to question the order.  


All the stories seemed to have one element in common; Aziraphale had become immune to Hellfire (Ramiel’s take was that there had been an administrative error, it wouldn’t have happened if _he’d_ done the paperwork) and now was no longer bound to Heaven, and there would be no interactions or interference with him any longer.  


That was perplexing, considering a list of his miracles were still steadily pouring forth onto Ramiel’s desk. He didn’t think about the implications of Aziraphale remaining under Heaven’s surveillance after they’d agreed to leave him be. At first, he’d hoped that it was only a matter of time before the paperwork went through and Aziraphale was disconnected from Ramiel, (Heaven was notoriously slow with work orders) or maybe he’d lose his ability to do miracles, or shun Heavenly magic and stop, or just grow bored of it and Ramiel could take a break. To be fair, the miracles seemed to slow down at first. This was the slowest it had been for centuries. But gradually, they returned to their normal speed and frequency.  


Ramiel had been Aziraphale’s monitor for nearly the whole 6000 years. There were a few times when Heaven was short in other departments and he had to fill in, leaving the scrolls to pile up until he could return. There was also the short vacation Ramiel was granted every 1000 years. He hadn’t grown fond of Aziraphale, really, but after all that time observing someone’s actions, it’s hard to not have some sort of connection with them. He did imagine that he knew him rather intimately. Aziraphale was predictable. He was rather simple and not very exciting. Ramiel liked to try to imagine what situations he was in by what kind of miracles he was performing. Sometimes he played oracle and imagined Aziraphale could communicate through miracles to him directly. _Send up a tier-one miracle for yes, perform a tier two for no._ This was rather immature, he noted, and tried to be more professional.  


Aziraphale generally stuck to tiers one through three when it came to types of miracles. There were seven tiers of miracles, each requiring more power than the last. On the scrolls of paper, a miracle might look like this: _“Tier One, Principality Aziraphale, April 9th, 2011, 9:01 am, Cup of tea brewed at the perfect temperature.”_ Angels, archangels and principalities, those belonging to the third circle, were only capable of performing up to a level five miracle. Powers, dominions and virtues, circle two, could do level six, and only those of the first circle, thrones, cherubim, and seraphim could do level seven. Anything else was left to godhood. After the debacle, the level one and two miracles became very common.  


Again, Aziraphale was very predictable. He liked things just so and went through periods of times where he was loose with the miracle work to make it happen. (Near the beginning of it all, when the rules were fresher in his mind, he’d actually reported Aziraphale for superfluous and excessive miracles. As time passed, and he could trust Aziraphale more, he let the extra miracles pass. Less paperwork.) Aziraphale fixed wrinkled clothes quite often, he was known to change the temperature of the room by a few degrees, he didn’t shy away from making people find some surprise change in their pocket, and he also sometimes helped waiters and chefs work at superhuman speeds during a lunch rush. This was all the norm, and Ramiel could keep up despite the slight annoyance at how often these small miracles were performed. He took up rolling his eyes at his charge very often.  


He was very glad none of his peers were staring at him trying to figure out the mystery of Aziraphale (as they often did nowadays) when The Miracle came in. The slip of paper read, _“Tier Two, Principality Aziraphale, June 8th, 2016, 11:34pm, Genitalia manifested, penis.”_ He huffed ever so slightly and began to log the miracle. It wasn’t the first time he’s had to log a miracle like this. Not really his business anyway. Not even a few seconds later, another began to print out like a receipt. Even before it could be properly printed, another appeared the long strip of paper arching up in a pile. _Really?_ Ramiel thought. Stars help him. He finished penning down the specs on the first and plugging it into what could be considered a computer (Heaven liked a physical and a digital copy for whatever reason). He pulled up a new form from the large stack on his desk that never truly ended and sent the digital version away, refreshing the page. Ramiel gently picked up the end of the slip of paper, running it through his fingers and holding the end taut so the words were clearer. He read, squinting, pencil in hand.  


_ “Tier Two, Principality Aziraphale, June 8th, 2016, 11:35pm, All vestments removed, moved to a dresser, folded neatly.”  
_

_ “Tier Two, Principality Aziraphale, June 8th, 2016, 11:35pm, Vestments of The Demon Crowley removed, moved to a dresser, folded neatly.”  
_

Ramiel paused, pursing his lips. He briefly imagined a world where he did ask to be reassigned. He’d always wondered what it might be like surveying a virtue or maybe a power. Maybe he’d become the head of a department like this and get to preside over his whole floor. He did try really really hard to stay in his perfect world but the disgust and secondhand embarrassment won over. There really was no rationalizing the trio of miracles and he didn't have the energy to explain them away to himself. A chorus of _ugh’s _ and _ew’s_ replayed on loop in his head. Some of the pieces were starting to click together. Was this why… _ugh, ew._ He began scribbling down the miracles and ticking necessary boxes. Part of him wondered if he should just… crumple…  


Ramiel death-stared down the slot as another paper materialized. He’d never sweated or blushed before in his life and he really hoped he wasn't about to start now. He also hoped his face wasn't showing how much he really wasn't enjoying this. He glanced briefly around the room. Nobody was looking at him. He pointedly ignored the miracle that had just finished printing and focused on its predecessors. _One thing at a time. Deep breaths._ He didn't really need to breathe.  


_ “Tier Two, Principality Aziraphale, June 8th, 2016, 11:49 pm, Materialized plastic bottle containing personal lubricant.”_  


_ Aziraphale_, Ramiel thought incredulously. He didn't…why…_Aziraphale…_ The paper folded slightly as his fingers dug into it. Since it was rather thin, it warped in fingerprint shapes around his hands which were, in fact, starting to sweat. He closed his mouth and tried not to clench his jaw. _Why in heavens… a_ demon? _And I just have to sit here and…?  
_

__

He held himself off from growling under his breath. Looking around the room once more he took the slip of paper and hid it under a few of the others. He’d decide what to do with it once his head had cleared a little bit. _Happy place. Overseeing the floor. Making big, important decisions. Maybe he’d ask for his vacation early._ Ramiel blew air out and thrummed his fingers on the desk. He noticed he’d been idly scribbling a big black circle with his pencil, which had now dulled. He sighed. Aziraphale could do whatever he wanted. He was freer than the rest of them. Maybe there was a good reason for all of this. Maybe it had all been a big misunderstanding and the rumors had gotten way out of hand. Maybe someone just got the date for the Apocalypse wrong and the rest of the angels had assumed the worst and the reason no higher-ups had made a comment was because it was all too ridiculous to dignify a response and really they all should just get back to work anyway and--  


Ramiel peeked out from behind his fingers which had taken up residence rubbing his eye sockets and forehead. The sound of another receipt printing was deafening. If he could believe his charge was a cruel angel, he might think that he was doing this on purpose. The final nail in the coffin, the last salt in his wounds read,  


_“Tier Two, Principality Aziraphale, June 8th, 2016, 12:04 pm, De-materialized bodily fluids, sweat, semen, saliva, from bedsheets, the Principality Aziraphale and the Demon Crowley.”_

* * *

There was typically an order to Those Miracles when they happened. When Aziraphale had sex that is. Generally: clothes, lube, cleanup. That isn't to say that it was the same every single time. There was sometimes the subtraction of one or two of the three and there was often the addition of other miracles. Sometimes lingerie was conjured, sometimes toys, he'd miracle’d ropes into existence a few times, and the architecture of the bookshop had been known to suddenly include pulleys, chains, and bed frames with sturdy posts. There were a few tier 3’s that involved teleportation here and there.  


Sometimes his charge had a vulva and other times a penis. Ramiel had a vague idea of how Aziraphale looked and his memory was recently refreshed because of the Apocalypse-that-wasn't ordeal. He’d never met the angel face to face or directly interacted with him. _(Surely Aziraphale was aware his miracles were monitored. All of the third circle had been informed they would be recorded before they were sent to their jobs. How could Aziraphale have forgotten? Was being watched a part of it for him? Should he reach out? No, that’d probably upset him. Or Heaven forbid, make it worse.)_ Ramiel shuddered. There was a stark contrast between the fluffy, soft-looking angel and the kind of miracles he’d been performing. Ramiel was being force-fed the image of his charge in something tiny, black, and lacy, riding crop in hand, slick dripping down his leg. Ramiel tried to reign in his imagination without much success.  


After mysteriously and conveniently losing the papers that documented the first few miracles, Ramiel accepted his fate and dutifully recorded all the miracles. He would have just done Heaven and Aziraphale and himself and Crowley, _oh stars, the poor demon stuck cataloging _Crowley’s _miracles_, a favor and forgotten the whole mess but it quickly became evident that it wasn’t just a one-time thing. (He did, however, decide to invest in a separate box for these miracles.) There aren’t days and weeks in Heaven like there are on Earth but Ramiel was writing out the angel and demon’s dirty deeds at the equivalent of every day or every other day. By this time, he had told the rest of his office and anyone who asked that he was reassigned. It was easier this way. Loudly, from the other side of the room, _New charge keeping you busy, Rami?_ Oh, Janus, well-meaning and stupid Janus. _Yeah, heh._ Since when had anyone ever called him Rami? Lots of new and interesting developments in the life and times of Ramiel, Dominion of the Principality Aziraphale and Heaven’s Finest and Only Pornographer and Smut Peddler. He was almost numb to it by now. Almost.

* * *

Ramiel was in the middle of a heavy sigh, slip clutched between his fingers as he reached for a new form when the energy in the room changed. It suddenly felt even more boringly prim and slightly constipated. He looked up. An angel that looked vaguely familiar had entered the room, looking a little lost and very out of place. Most of the dominions had looked up at him at this point. He gave the room half a sneer and they took the cue to get back to work. Ramiel subconsciously moved his hand to cover the paper up. As the angel approached a name came to his mind. _Ah, Archangel Gabriel. What does he want?_  
He cleared his throat quietly.  


“Are you, eh, the Dominion Ramiel?” he said with a short “a” and emphasis on the “iel.”  


_ “RAWH-me-el,”_ he corrected.  


“Ah, yes, Ramiel, excuse me.”  


“Why are you here, Archangel Gabriel,” Ramiel asked, purposely letting some malice color his tone, “You know this is a Dominion’s administrative space. You really shouldn’t be interrupting.”  


It must have caught him off guard since he tripped over his next words. He lowered his voice.  


“Oh, come on, Ramiel, just because I’m not a scribe like you doesn’t mean I can’t come check in. My work is just as important as yours; none of us are closer to Her light than any of the rest.”  


Ramiel sat back, knowing full well that that wasn’t true. He was starting to sweat again. Great.  


“I’m very busy. What do you want?”  


Gabriel’s eyes went a little wider at that. _ Busy._ “You—you are the one who writes down Aziraphale’s miracles, aren’t you?” Gabriel asked less than eloquently.  


“Yes. I am,” Ramiel replied dryly.  


“Ah, great. I need to see those records.”  


Ramiel moved his leg to the side of the box under his desk where he’d been filing away the miracles and squinted his eyes at the archangel. He let the miracle that had just started printing roll up into his hand as he covered the slot it was printing from.  


Not really wanting to make a scene, a huge scene anyway, Ramiel lowered his voice so only Gabriel could hear.  


“Would you care to explain exactly what’s been going on with my charge, Gabriel?”  


“Well—that’s, that’s what I’ve been sent here to figure out. I’m just as much in the dark about this whole thing as you are, I assume.”  


“So, there is a “whole thing”, is there? Why haven’t I heard anything regarding my charge besides ugly rumors, most of them involving archangels? I can’t say I like being left in the dark about this, considering it’s my job to be monitoring him. Help me out, answer some of my questions and then I can answer some of yours.”  


It was Gabriel’s turn to look sweaty and unsure now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t know what you’ve been hearing. All I know is that I’ve been sent here to retrieve any and all recently catalogued miracles from Aziraphale. From the past few months.”  


“Under whose orders?”  


“The—the—ah--”  


“Where are the forms? I know you all have been a little lax with your organizational skills, but I would at least expect to have seen some acquisitional request forms by now. You should know, Gabriel, that I can’t let you see these papers without the proper authorization. Get back to me when you have your permits in order,” he smiled without any joy behind his eyes.  


Gabriel’s forehead scrunched up and looked like he was about to object, but he closed his mouth. “I will—come back with those forms.” He turned and left with his tail between his legs.  


Ramiel let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as soon as the Archangel had left the room. He had a slight tremor about him. _Did he really just tell off Gabriel? The Archangel Gabriel? What’s next? Spit in Michael’s coffee?_ He realized a few of the other dominions looking at him. He shook it off and braved a glance at the two miracles crumpled up in his hand.  


_ “Tier Three, Principality Aziraphale, July 14th, 2016, 11:17 am, Altered physics in a 10-meter cubed space, obstructing sound waves from moving outside of the space.”  
_

__

_ “Tier Two, Principality Aziraphale, July 14th, 2016, 11:25 am, Repaired seven large scratch marks on the leather seat of a motor vehicle.”  
Ramiel decided it was time to reach out. _

* * *

_“To whom it may concern—”_  


_“To the Principality Aziraphale—”_  


_“Aziraphale, you don’t know me, but—”,_  


_“Urgent, Read Immediately—”_  


_“Dear Aziraphale—”_  


_“Be Not Afraid, But—”_  


_“Aziraphale,”_  


_ _ _ He had a small pile of balls of paper when he was done. He used his special golden ink and his favorite quill from the wing of another angel who he never knew. Ramiel’s handwriting was very pretty, a just barely readable cursive. He hated wasting his cardstock even though it wasn’t really matter and there was technically no waste, but it felt wasteful anyway. This note had to be right. He sent a silent prayer up to whoever was listening that Crowley wasn’t anywhere near Aziraphale wherever they were and that his desk would remain quiet and peaceful. He asked Sachariel to watch over just in case, not that it would make a difference if the miracles did start up again. It was mainly to make sure Gabriel didn’t come snooping around where he shouldn’t be. Ramiel left the building.  
___

_ _ _ He had some connections in the buildings adjacent to his own, so he made the trek down the stairs and across the courtyard. The Dominions who oversaw acquisitions and sorting the miracles into even bigger and more expansive filing systems resided here. He was able to sweet-talk the Dominion that received, checked, and sent off the papers for his floor into sending off a letter for him. She, Hannael, was a little suspicious of Ramiel’s motives, but since he was always punctual with his forms and went through the right channels when requesting things, she sent off his letter and agreed to keep it off the record. Later, he’d be sure to send her a thank-you note along with his paperwork and make extra sure the rest of the dominions were on-time with their forms. Ramiel got back to his desk, nothing exciting having happened while he was gone, and waited. _ _ _

_ _ __ _ _

* * *

The letter was in a warm, cream-colored envelope. It rested inconspicuously on top of the rest of the mail. On the front, it had only his name written in a script that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but divine. The envelope was soft and smooth, and he could tell that the paper within was a thick stock. It was heavy in his hands.  


“It’s from Heaven,” Aziraphale said hollowly. He was slightly paler than usual.  


Crowley walked up behind him gingerly, wrapping his arms around the angel’s middle and resting his chin on his shoulder. He breathed in. Aziraphale hadn’t moved and was still staring down the letter as if, maybe, it would just disappear if he wished it hard enough.  


“Just open it, angel, there’s nothing they can throw at us that we can’t handle,” Crowley laughed, “Might be just them begging for you back, or, angel, did you forget to cancel a subscription?”  


“That’s not funny, Crowley,” he choked out. Aziraphale could feel his heartbeat in his ears.  


Crowley kissed his neck gently. “The longer you wait, the worse you’ll feel. Just open it,” and then more softly, “I’ve got you, Aziraphale.”  


The angel gently pulled up the flap from the envelope, leaving the thing intact as he removed the letter from its sleeve. The letter practically radiated angelic energy, prim and proper and holier-than-thou. Crowley flinched at the stink of Heaven and read over Aziraphale’s shoulder.

_ Aziraphale, _  
_ I do hope this letter finds you well. Please do not be alarmed at receiving post from Heaven. I know this might cause a fright considering your recent independence, but you have done nothing wrong, I assure you. This letter comes from the department of Dominions responsible for miracle management. It would not be surprising if you were not informed of us, bearing in mind certain beings’ propensity to keep others in the dark. Regardless, it is supposed to be common knowledge that all earthly angels have their miracles tracked, no matter how small. Once again, you are in no trouble or danger. Usually, these records are seen by only the Dominions responsible for writing them and then sealed away. However, there have been some prying eyes and some snooping around the department as of late. You have done nothing wrong. Consider this a friendly reminder, a courtesy call, if you will, that your miracles are being logged and are visible to anyone with the right paperwork or connections. Do with this information what you will. If you were aware of this already, please accept my apologies, but consider this letter for as long as you need to and after, please destroy it as a kindness to me. I hope earth has been treating you kindly, and please send my regards to Crowley._  
_-R _

&esnpCrowley finished reading before Aziraphale, unclasping his arms from the angel’s waist and doubling over. He cackled loudly as Aziraphale clutched the letter, whiter than a sheet.  


“Oh my God,” Aziraphale said softly. _Mortified, utterly mortified._ “Crowley…” he turned. The demon was still hunched over in a fit of laughter, hands on his knees. He looked up at Aziraphale, tears in his eyes just barely visible over his shades.  


“Did you—you _knew_ about this?”  


At that, he started a new fit of harsh laughter.  


“You knew. _And you didn’t think to tell me?”_ Aziraphale yipped like a kicked dog.  


Crowley, breathless, moved to pull Aziraphale close to him, the two now face to face.  


“Kinky angel,” Crowley smiled. “You can’t possibly pretend you didn’t know. Bastille?  


Aziraphale gaped like a fish. His deathly pale had shifted into a lobster red. He squirmed in Crowley’s arms and batted at his chest. “I—I forgot,” Aziraphale squawked. “Dear _God_,” he breathed weakly.  


Crowley started snickering again and released Aziraphale. He turned around, gesturing theatrically. “Think of the poor bastard, writing about your sex life for months, finally sick of it. You think he sat at his desk with a hard-on all day long?”  


_ “Crowley.”  
_

“Missus God, today I’m very pleased to write that soft and cherubic Aziraphale used his miracle-y power to keep evil, evil Crowley’s knees from buckling as he took him from behind against a bookcase,” he said, speaking in a cartoonish mockery of the angels upstairs.  


“Crowley!”  


“What are you going to do, dear, spank me? You’ll have to peel my trousers off yourself instead of wishing them off like usual.”  


“I-I think I need to lie down. I think I’ll faint.”  


“Theatrics.”  


Aziraphale stared at him with wide eyes, looking green, one hand on his middle and the other having crushed the letter in a vice grip. Crowley once again approached his angel. Aziraphale put his hands up.  


“No, don’t touch me right now. I need a drink before I can look at you again,” he said in a strained voice without much venom behind it.  


Crowley moved towards him with open arms. “Oh, come on, angel, don’t be like that,” he said, trying to hide the curl of his lips.  


“Crowley, please.” He looked as if he realized something, staring at the floor. “Do you…?”  


“What, Aziraphale?”  


“What about your demonic miracles? Are they…”  


“Alright, Saint Aziraphale, my miracles are just as much miracles as yours, no need for the extra descriptor. And yes, we may have all fallen, but Hell works in much the same way as Heaven. Albeit less organized. And way shittier.”  


“Do you think—”  


“Oh, no definitely. I’m sure whatever shmuck is in charge of me either doesn’t care, has too much other work to do, died a long time ago, or gets off on it and won’t say anything.”  


“Crowley.”  


“Oh relax. Let me make you tea?”  


Aziraphale, still in shock, let himself be guided to his sofa like a Victorian who’d just overcome a fit of hysterics. After he sat down and Crowley had gone off, he took one final look at the paper and immolated it. He hunched over and rested his head in his hands.

* * *

Ramiel cautiously read the new slip. His eyes glanced over _Aziraphale, paper, fire, disintegrated._ He sighed. Time to get back to work.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback appreciated! If there's anyone who's a serious angel freak and has some insight or corrections please let me know. It's been a while since I've written something this long but it's better here than collecting dust in my drafts.


End file.
